


Burns and boiling blood

by Yoruhime



Series: Fire and ashes [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU from Season 4, Disturbia series related, Gen, M/M, One major spoiler for TSWE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 06:35:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3640398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yoruhime/pseuds/Yoruhime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek's eyes are fixated on the girl – she's older, her face thinner and her hair a lot longer. But there's no mistaking this scent, or the way she moves, graceful and silent, more in tune with the animal part of herself than anyone else in this Pack.</p><p><em>Malie</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burns and boiling blood

**Author's Note:**

> So, I do hope everyobdy reading this is aware of the Malia-Peter situation, since I use it here, and in the next part. It's also, in its way, a spoiler for the TSWE ending (or maybe the follow-up of it, I'm not sure). Either way, you've been warned. This chap, wr're still following the episode's timeline, with, of course, forks here and here!
> 
> Enjoy!

“Look, you just..stay here. We're waiting for Scott. So don't go anywhere, don't do anything weird...and come to think of it, don't speak to me”. 

Derek rises an eyebrow at the last part. He expected questions, but he supposes he is too much like Peter for Stiles' liking. Besides, Derek dosen't exactly intend to speak to the human either – any account he'd get would be twisted and biased, and he isn't his lover, to gather the truth from minds all around. 

So keeping silent is no problem, except... “What about him – I am meant to play mute?”. Stiles whirls round with a muffled curse toward Mr Tall and Dark and smelling of Chinese food who has just appeared in the corridor. The man is certainly human, and considering his scent, certainly Scott's father.

And apparently, Scott's father carries a gun. Interesting. A Hunter would have blown his own son's head off for being what he is, so...policeman, maybe. No. More than that. Derek knows how to recognize a fellow tracker, albeit one who has naught to do with the supernatural. Fed, he's almost sure of it. And who says Fed says intel.

Derek throws his best grin in the conversation, cutting Stiles' stupid rambling mid-sentence – the boy is smart, but he needs to work on his calm, truly. But again, Derek's higher perceptions of the human's thundering heart may swerve his vision a little. The Fed doesn't seem too suspicious, after all. Mainly surprised at the stranger in his living room.

Well. Let's make friends, then. “Hi, Sir. You must be Scott's Dad. My name's Derek. I'm a friend of his”. He feels the jolt of surprise and near-panic from Stiles, and hides his satisfaction. _Next time, be more swift when weaving the truth, kid, before you get the rug beneath you feet wiped out_. He extends a hand to his interlocutor, while adding, to makes sure Stiles won't be able to get him thrown out, “We were waiting on Scott. Sorry to disturb you, Sir”.

The man shakes his hand without any hesitation. “Don't be. If you are waiting for my son, then it makes two of us. And you can call me Rafael”. He lifts the brown paper bag he's carrying. “We were meant to eat together, but I have extra helping. Hungry?”.

This time, Derek's grin is genuine. Even with what he ate at Peter's, he's still famished. The tomb must have hit his energy reserve harder than he thought. Even the chill lingers on his skin - he's having a hard time shaking it off for good. And besides, informal diner is the perfect spot to get information while looking innocent. “I'm starving, actually”.

And just like that, they're around the table, digging in. Stiles sits in the middle, right between Derek and Rafael, and maybe if Derek had been younger, the repeated cut-offs from the human would have been enough to make the conversation useless. But he isn't sixteen anymore, and if he can hold a candle to his psychopathic lover's conversation, then he can handle Stiles unsubtle attempts at interfering.

Not that Rafael McCall pays much attention to it either, focused on Derek even with the younger human chattering at his ear. Derek lips twitch around his mouthful of spring roll. Definitely Fed. Bet his Gift the next question will be... “So, what was you family name again, Derek?”. 

“Callen”, Derek retorts without missing a beat, the irony of the surname's use enough to make him inwardly snicker. Peter – his Peter – must be laughing somewhere, as well. “Derek Callen”. And since the shortest lies are the best, he decides to go straight to his goal, letting his eyes linger on Rafael's badge lying on the table next to a set of keys. “So you're FBI? You investigate murders and the like?”.

“He's really a baseline agent...”, Stiles starts, but neither of the two let the human deter them from the exchange.

“It happens”, Rafael acknowledges. “When it falls into the federal crime category”. His eyes are keen and knowing as he looks back at Derek. He knows he has a precise question, and the young wolf hesitates for a heartbeat – when you deal with Peter as he was for years on a daily basis, gentle, careful treading is best.

But if, for once, he can have his information without having to fight teeth and nails for it... “What do you know of the Hales?”.

***

Derek's urge to slam Stiles against the nearest wall is short-lived. It would give him nothing, and in the end, the human is for nothing in what he learned. He supposes that if he wants to hit someone, he should punch himself in the face, really. Well. His other him, at any rate.

And yet, at the same time, he cannot truly say he's surprised, not with how much intel Scott's questions had given out as they returned from Mexico. He knew the fire happened, and he knew Peter had been caught in it, and abandoned to heal all alone, even by the other Derek. Up to that point, his world is not so different.

But he didn't expect to learn that they were _all_ dead. Jesus. He had no relations with any of the Hales for almost two years, but it's still a blow. Not devastating, or too saddening, but...die burned alive... No-one deserves that, and certainly not Ethan, or Marie or John who never hurt anyone. Derek passes a hand through his hair with a sigh, lips thinning as he thinks of something else.

This Derek mustn't have a Gift. Or maybe he doesn't know how to use it. But either way, something's off, because stupid and selfish or no, there is no way _any version_ of himself would have left his family, would have left Peter, to die without getting a move in, whether they were lovers or not. 

Which incidentally means that he'd better be careful when moving around. Barring a life-threatening situation, he cannot afford to show any unusual abilities. No when he has no idea of how the Pack could react. With a derisive shake of his head, he goes to open the windows, taking a deep breath of the night's fresh, cold air. Back to hiding, acting like he is less than he is. 

Fuck, he really needs to go back home, and fast.

Alright. Time to start thinking seriously instead of using all of his energy keeping a low profile and playing everyone around. He probably won't be left alone for long, and once Scott'll be here...well, even if the young Alpha cannot hold his own to him, Derek is wary of starting a fight – no when it means risking the whole Pack going after him. 

And yet, Scott will certainly want him to stay here, when he is easier to restrain and monitor. He'll lose virtually any freedom to investigate, so better decide now if he bows or runs and ditch them all. After all, they haven't been very useful to him – the Alpha even admitted that he's had destroyed the tomb's entrance without even paying attention to the engraved picture on it. Moron.

Derek frowns. Best not pursue two lines of thinking at the same time. First of all, how did he get trapped in the tomb? Why him, who has nothing to do with this world? Surely it wasn't the point in the first place. He is useless to Kate as he is – or at least he thinks so. What could she do when he doesn't trust her and would most certainly gut her on sight?

No, she had planned something different, without a doubt. Still, she blew it, because rather than the Derek of this world, it has been him dragged into whatever spell or magic she had been performing at the time. And dragged is truly the word, Derek muses. 

It was about 4 PM when it happened. He remembers passing an arm around Malie's shoulders, teleporting them away, back to Peter. And then...he had felt an harsh, powerful, inescapable lurch, the gliding dark-in-between suddenly turning into vicious claws forcing him away from his intended arrival spot. He had fought back, of course, but he had quickly understood that the force claiming him was too strong.

He had somehow managed to push Malie out of the dark with all the strength he had left, spitting back his passenger god-knows where in the forest. Green and the smell of trees had flashed, for barely an instant, before everything had turned dark. Next thing he had known, he was waking up crushed between four stone walls, breathing dust and his own panic.

Derek watches into the black sky without truly seeing it, trying to make sense of it all. He suspects it was a question of teleporting at the wrong moment, and, probably, of the fact he was the one called by the spell, after a fashion at least. He had been in the dark-in-between, an unstable zone at best, underworld pathways that allowed him to teleport and walk kilometers in seconds.

Not fully anchored to the real world, more of a shadow than a living being. Maybe he had been easier to reach out mid-teleportation, while he was somewhat fanthom-like, than his other him, flesh and hard bones at the same moment. He thinks on it a while longer, but it seems a plausible explanation – and a simple one.

Derek isn't as well-versed as Peter in witchcraft, but he knows that magic tends to be straightforward at best, if not plain stupid. It does what its spelled to do, no more and no less, and if you don't give precise specifics, such as “I want the Derek of this world to be dragged in”...well. You end up with the kind of situation they're in.

A smile quirks his mouth as he thinks of Kate faced with her failure, before he goes serious once more.

Knowing how he got here doesn't give him the answer to “how to get back”. He needs more intel for that, and not the kind Rafael can give him – he needs to learn about Mexico, the Calaveras, and the temple the Pack found him in. Maybe if he learns more about the religion and the myths of the region...there's often a parcel of truth in them.

So Mexico means most probably Aztec folklore, which he knows...strictly nothing about, except that their Gods were numerous and their mythology very complex and obscure. He needs either a great library, or a person who knows their stuff on the supernatural. In BC, that means two persons: Deaton, that Derek would hardly approach even under threat of death...

...and Peter.

Well. Looks like it'll be the ditching option, after all. Anyway, Derek muses as he vaults over the window's frame, Stiles and his mistrust and remarks were getting on his nerves. Better be alone than in bad company. Or, when it comes to him, than in any company, or almost. Certainly not with a strange Pack, at least. Peter and Malie notwithstanding, Derek has always been better off on his own, and apparently this time isn't the exception to the rule.

He takes off at a light but swift run, following the well-known scent of Peter, disappearing back into the shadows the way he came from.

***

Derek slows his jog as he nears Peter's loft, and he curses in a half-voice. Scott's here. Damn. He considers backing away, but the boy, Alpha or no, doesn't seem very intent on the survey of his surroundings. Well. Admittedly, Derek is against the wind, but still. What kind of wolf doesn't let an ear trail around at all times?

Jesus. Pack, my ass. They have guts, Derek'll give them that much, and they're not full idiots, but underneath all the power, they are _children_ still. And Scott may be Alpha, but in the end he thinks as an human – he doesn't know how to listen for the instinct part of himself, not fully. Even Malie knows to always keep her senses tuned.

Even if having both Peter and Derek around and encouraging shifting all the time may has to do with it. Whatever. The point still stand – as a Pack, they may be bothersome, but individually, they're flawed. And while Derek himself isn't perfect, he still got one hell of a upper hand on a bunch of supernatural kids.

He steps back half a meter, slipping deeper into the trees' shadows. No need to take the risk of getting closer – he doubts he's missing much, and even if he does...listening in on a conversation means focusing, and so being a lot less aware of his surroundings. In this world he doesn't know, he's not so keen on impairing himself.

And yet, if Scott ran to Peter, even with how much tension his heartbeat indicated when he spoke of him, there must be a reason. With a sigh, Derek concentrates, expanding his earing. Just to be sure he's not passing up anything useful. But what he learns is nothing new : turning by claws, his and Kate's relationship, and the question of what she wants...

But nothing about Mexico, or the temple. He'll have to question Peter himself, and that means a thorny conversation in perspective. Especially after the bombshell he dropped a few hours prior. Not that he doesn't trust Peter to have gotten over the shock, but he's certain the man will have no claims as to use what he'll see as a weakness.

Derek lets his hearing tone back to normal and sighs. It's like confronting the Peter of three years ago, the rogue Alpha after the coma – no morals, no capacity to empathy, or almost. In fact, in this Peter, maybe even truly none at all. He doesn't seem to have anyone to...

The steel door opens and Derek instantly drops on all fours, pressing himself closer to the ground, burying his wolf deep – not a hint of predator left, and the shadows of the trees conceal him perfectly as long as Scott doesn't try and get a closer look. And he doesn't, barely taking the time to glance around before jumping on his motocross.

Derek is about to roll his eyes and rise when another scent hits his nose, and he stops dead. The girl steps out from the loft after the Alpha, a slight frown marring her face. “He says he's not interested in helping us question him”, she announces, and Scott shakes his head.

“Yeah, I'm not surprised. Come on, Stiles told me he was at mine, and I don't want to leave him alone too long with him”. Derek barely hears him, his eyes fixated on the girl – she's older, her face thinner and her hair a lot longer. But there's no mistaking this scent, or the way she moves, graceful and silent, more in tune with the animal part of herself than anyone else in this Pack.

 _Malie_.

Scott takes off, and Derek slowly rises, still a bit shocked. He cannot believe that this Peter would have found her – or that he would have cared enough to search and help her, this feral, lost girl that they both Derek and his lover consider Pack, now. He knows the Peter of this world ; and he has no illusion about his ability to care about anyone but himself.

For all his compassion and understanding, Derek has no doubts : the man in this loft is incapable, as of now, of loving anyone. Even his own daughter.

The door opens again, light falling on the ground in jaded bolts. It cannot pierce the shadows, but Peter hardly needs it. His glowing blue eyes find Derek without effort, and his mouth quirks up in a perfect parody of a welcoming smile. “Hello, Derek. Why don't you come in? I assure you I'll be a better host this time”.

Derek steps to the limits of the trees, features thrown in sharp relief by the mix of darkness and flickering light. He sends a clear ironic smile in answer to the older wolf's words. “I take it you won't try to claw my throat off, this time? I'm flattered”.

The smile grows fangs, almost literally. “Now, now. Why would I risk blundering such a perfect opportunity of a cordial exchange of informations? I have something you must want, or you wouldn't have come back. And you...there are several questions I'm sure you can answer for me, can't you...love?”.

Derek doesn't even bat an eye at the sudden endearment, just tilting his head, somewhat catlike, curious and wary at the same time. “Questions, huh? Such as?”. 

“Dear Malia, for one. You certainly looked a bit surprised to see her, but you clearly _know_ her. I'd appreciate to know who she is, exactly. And in exchange, you may ask a question in turn, to which I'll answer just as truthfully”. Peter spreads his hands, expression seemingly innocent, less you can recognize the malicious glint in his eyes. “A fair deal, I believe”.

Derek's lips twitch into a amused smile at hearing the word 'fair', considering by who it's being used, but he inclines his head all the same and steps into the light, and into the loft.

 _Game on_.


End file.
